The Pirate Bride (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Never try to trick a trickster . . .

B
olthor went out through the tunnel later that night.

He would greet Medana’s brothers and assure them of a cordial reception awaiting them on the island of Thrudr. Once her brothers, depending on how many had come, left his sight, Bolthor would reunite with his wife—assuming she was in the mood for a reunion—then order some of the seamen aboard Tykir’s longship to gather as many weapons as possible and take them to the waiting men and women.

The worst part was the waiting, in Thork’s opinion.

Medana was up at the hunters’ longhut with Brokk, where she would stay until given the word that it was safe for her to come down. Thork had promised to send her periodic messages about who had come and what they wanted.

Finally, torchlights appeared to be approaching through the tunnel. Several well-garbed men were at the head, leading a dozen guardsmen carrying broadswords and battle-axes.

Thork stood at the forefront with his father and mother, his three brothers behind them, waiting for the visitors to come up the moveable stairs. All over the village, men and women carrying weapons stood at attention, a show of strength to their visitors.

Once on the grassy area, his father said, “Welcome to Thrudr. I am Jarl Tykir Thorksson of Dragonstead, and this is my wife, Lady Alinor, and my son Thork. Behind us are my other three sons, Guthrom, Starri, and Selik. And over there are Mistresses Gudron, Berdis, and Solveig, representing the community of Thrudr.” The women wore helmets, chain mail, and gauntlets; they carried shields and deadly short swords.

Tykir then arched his head for a reciprocal introduction.

The first man wore a fine blue wool tunic over black braies, belted with a gem-studded belt, and carried a sword whose silver hilt must be worth a fortune. He said, “I am Jarl Sigurd Torsson. I believe my sister, Geira, may be residing here. I have come to take her home.”

“Ah, I knew your father well. And these other men?” Tykir asked, ignoring Sigurd’s remark about Geira.

“Two of my
hersir
s, Alfrim and Serk,” he said, indicating the men on either side of him, “and those behind me are
housecarl
s assigned to Stormgard.”

“And your brothers?” Tykir asked. “I understood there were three of you.”

“I come alone,” Sigurd said, clearly impatient with the questions. “Where is Geira?”

“There is no one here named Geira, is there?” Thork said, inclining his head toward Gudron and the women. They all shook their heads.

“She probably goes by another name,” Sigurd said. “The Sea Scourge, some call her.” That last information Sigurd imparted with a sneer.

“Ah, yea, the Sea Scourge,” Tykir responded.

“She is indisposed at the moment,” his mother interjected, “but come join us for a cup of ale ’til she is available.” It was their intention to put the sleeping draught in their drinks, but only after they gained certain information.

At some point, Thork intended to enact his own vengeance on Sigurd, as well. Just payment for the scars on Medana’s back. But that would come later.

Sigurd was not happy at being forestalled.

“You must know that there is only a two-hour time period for the tunnel to be open,” Thork said as they began to follow the group warily to one of the longhouses.

“Time enough!” Sigurd commented, exchanging meaningful glances with his men. They were up to no good, that was certain.

In the wake of Sigurd’s coming onto the island, Bolthor and Katherine managed to slip through the tunnel and bring a few weapons with them. Not many, not wanting to call attention to themselves. They had no news to report. Katherine said the men on the two boats that had arrived the same time she had were very closemouthed and had little to say when she asked questions. Once they knew she was no threat to their plans, they ignored her.

An hour later, the Torsson group was growing increasingly impatient in the hall of the largest longhouse. Thork didn’t plan on giving them the tainted drink until they got more information out of them.

Alinor asked Bolthor to say one of his sagas as a means of forestalling the men.

“This is the saga of all Viking men,” a flustered Bolthor began.

“Viking men are kind at heart.

Some are even very smart.

The best of them are strong in battle,

But home hearth they can also straddle.

Love their wives and concubines . . .”

Katherine elbowed her husband in the ribs for that mention of concubines, but still Bolthor went on trying to distract the villainous visitors.

“Tend their children with no whines.

Balance is the key for many a Norseman

When he is head of his clan.

Virile but gentle

Strong in battle, strong in the bedsport . . .”

It was obvious that Bolthor was struggling to finish his poem under such pressure, and Sigurd and his men were becoming restless.

“Where is my sister? I demand to see her now!” Sigurd said, standing and glaring at his surroundings. “What kind of demented place is this, anyhow, with naught but women?”

“A pirate hiding place,” Thork responded, figuring that the secret was out by now, anyhow. “So tell me, why are you looking for Med— for Geira, after all these years?”

“I ne’er stopped looking for her, but it was believed that she had died long ago until—”

“Until—” Thork prodded.

“Until I found my thrall Agnis at Hedeby hiding my son from me.”

Oh, that was not good news. Medana would be very, very upset. That must be how Sigurd had learned of the island’s whereabouts and about the tunnel, not from his father’s seamen. “Where are they now?”

“On my longship.” Sigurd indicated with a jerk of his head the direction of Small Island. “I am taking her and my son back to Stormgard with Geira.” By the brutish expression on his face, Thork knew without a doubt that his plans for all three back there would not be pleasant. Scars, at the least.

“I thought Geira was guilty of some crime or other,” Alinor said with a wave of her hand, as if she couldn’t recall exactly what crime.

“She is, but that is a matter for my family to handle. Geira should have come to us to begin with.”

Hah! You were the ones to put her in that dire situation.

“Women! They are willful creatures, are they not? Not capable of thinking on their own,” Tykir said.

His mother appeared to be gritting her teeth, knowing her husband had good reasons for such insulting words.

“My thoughts exactly,” Sigurd said.

“Do you intend to send her to King Harald to account for her crime?” Tykir inquired with apparent casualness as he took another long draw on his horn of ale.

“We shall see. It depends on how agreeable she is to a marriage we have arranged. A man of superior breeding. A little older, of course, and some say hard as stone, but then women need the guidance of a man with discipline.”

For a moment, Thork feared his mother might leap over the table.

A marriage arranged for Medana with an elderly man?
“Over my dead body,” Thork murmured, which was becoming a familiar refrain by now.

“That is not one of Medana’s brothers,” Freyja said, coming up to whisper in Thork’s ear.

“
What?
Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Thork recalled then that Freyja had been Geira’s nursemaid at one time. Another thought came to him then. He should have known. The Sigurd imposter did not have the violet eyes and full lips of the Torsson clan.

He frowned with confusion, about to tell his father of this twist in their plans when there was a commotion outside. It was Brokk being helped by the young boy who’d been sent to give Medana their latest message. Brokk had a deep gash on his forehead, and he was dragging one leg, which might be broken.

“Lock the doors!” his father yelled as Sigurd or whoever he was began to scramble into possible flight with his men.

A bloody fight ensued, and to their credit, the women of Thrudr proved just as valuable as the men in fighting these miscreants. In the end, there were injuries on both sides, and the Sigurd poser was dead of a sword through the heart . . . Thork’s.

Only then did the implications of Brokk’s injuries filter into Thork’s thinking. “Where is Medana?” he asked Brokk, whose wounds were already being treated by his mother.

“Gone! Three of her brothers came, after you all left the tunnel area. They took her away.”

A roaring in Thork’s head caused him to shake his head to clear it. He was trembling so hard he could scarce stand aright. “Where did they take her?”

“I do not know. Out to their ship. They may be gone by now,” Brokk said, tears in his young eyes. “They hit her, Thork. In the face. And back. And belly.”

A full-blown rage overtook Thork, turning him berserk.

“But that is not why she went with them,” Brokk continued, gasping for breath.

His mother gave him a drink of water.

Brokk went on, “Medana went because of some woman and child being held captive on the ship. They threatened to kill the woman and dismember the boy slowly, unless Medana came willingly.”

Agnis and Sigurd’s son, Thork concluded.

His father handed Thork a sword, and Starri gave him his favorite knife.

“One more thing,” Brokk choked out. “Medana said: ‘Tell the loathsome lout not to follow me.’ ”

“Oh, Thork!” his mother said behind him. She knew as well as he did what the hidden message meant. “Loathsome lout” was intended as an endearment.

Thork ran as fast as he could, jumped into the pond where water was already starting to pool, and sloshed as fast as he could out to Small Island.

The longship had already pulled anchor and was sailing away. No care for the men they’d left behind. They’d got what they came for.

The terrible trouble just kept getting more terrible . . .

Medana was living her worst nightmare. She was back in the hands of her brothers, vulnerable to whatever dire fate they planned for her. Agnis and Egil had been taken, too.

The only thing she was unsure of was Thrudr. A dozen or so of her brothers’ men had gone through the tunnel, and surely the great Tykir Thorksson, his four sons, Thork’s men, and the Thrudr women would have been able to withstand their attack, if attack had been her brothers’ plan and not just a distraction. At least for the moment, Thrudr was safe, but its future was uncertain now that men knew about the sanctuary for women.

There was a groan on the floor beside her, and Medana rolled over and onto her knees, stifling a groan at her own pains. “Do not fret so, Agnis. I am here now.”

Agnis opened the slits of her swollen eyes. “Medana? Oh gods! They’ve taken you, too. And your face. And arms. What have they done to you?” Immediately, Agnis tried to sit up in panic. “Egil? Where is my son?”

“Shhh!” Medana said, helping Agnis to lie back down. “He is asleep over there. Unharmed. Settle please, Agnis. We do not want to call attention to ourselves. Shhh!”

“Where are we?”

“In the shelter of Sigurd’s longship. My brothers are on the other ship. We have been asea for hours now.” Agnis’s eyes darted about the small room in the center of the longship, created by drapes of sailcloth. Dawn light showed through some of the parted folds.

“Where are they taking us?”

“I’m not sure. Probably Stormgard, but mayhap to King Harald’s court in Vestfold.”

“Oh, the things Sigurd said to me! And did! He punched with a closed fist. And kicked me. And took a belt to my back. In front of his very own son! I know he is your brother, but he is an evil man, Medana. Evil to the core.”

Medana had not realized that Agnis might have injuries on her back, too, when she’d tended her face and arms and legs. She would check later. “I do not consider Sigurd a brother. He is naught to me. Nor are the other two villainous brothers of mine, Osten and Vermund, who follow every word of Sigurd’s as if he were a god. God of evil, that is what he is.
Nithing
s, all of them!”

For now, she needed to rest, to maintain her strength for the fight that was sure to come. What nature that fight would take she did not know, but it was coming, sure as dawn followed night.

“Do you know what the worst part was, Medana?” Agnis said, turning her head to look at her through those pitiful eye slits.

“What, sweetling?” She tried to brush some blood matted hair off her face.

“Gregor was there. I thought he cared for me, he said he did. But when Sigurd told Gregor that I belonged to him and that he should leave, Gregor just gave me a disappointed look and left me to Sigurd’s evil devices.”

“Men! They are all alike,” Medana said. But as she drifted into a pain-riddled sleep, she realized that she no longer really felt that way. Thork’s men were not like that, nor were Tykir and his followers. She did not think any one of them would leave a woman in distress or beat her bloody.

And Thork . . . She closed her eyes and felt hot tears sting her bruised cheeks. He was so much more than she had thought on first meeting him. He was everything she’d dreamed of in a man. Would he understand her silent message to Brokk when she’d referred to a “loathsome lout”? Would he know she loved him?